


gone

by silverkatana



Category: Super Junior
Genre: Angst, M/M, Self-Harm, Soulmate AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-16
Updated: 2019-08-16
Packaged: 2020-09-02 02:34:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20268595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silverkatana/pseuds/silverkatana
Summary: jungsoo and heechul are soulmates.// a different spin on the soulmate au trope.+ trigger warning, contains many mentions of self-harm. please do not read if it may affect you.





	1. bullshit

**Author's Note:**

> imported from aff

_"soulmates? they're bullshit."_

those have been the words leaving kim heechul's mouth for some time now - actually, ever since his parents told him what soulmates were - and he still says it every time someone brings the topic up.

the first time he realised that something was a little odd about couples was when his mother bruised her knee against a table leg and the injury appeared on his father's knee at the same time. afterwards, when he went to school, he'd see the way girls would purposely pinch their own skin in a desperate bid to find a guy who had the same mark appear on the back of his hand.

"bullshit," he always says, rather derisively, when someone urges him to actually begin looking for his destined soulmate, "why do i have to have ugly marks appear on _my _skin just because someone couldn't take care of herself?"

he wonders sometimes, though, when he accidentally gives himself a paper cut or when he trips and grazes his knees. he's never really seen other scars or marks appearing on his skin - is his soulmate someone who never comes into contact with the outside world, or does his soulmate not exist at all?

preferably the latter. he doesn't quite see why the world has to dictate who he falls in love with.

"you'll understand when you meet your soulmate," his parents insist, "it's almost as if they were made for you and only you - you'll suit each other better than anyone else could suit either of you."

kim heechul still thinks it's bullshit.

he doesn't want to meet his soulmate. he doesn't want to get trapped inside this illusion of his soulmate being the most perfect creature on earth.

he'd rather just - just live as he wants, with his skin being free of scars, thank you very much.

thankfully, most injuries fade, unless they're the permanent kind. he's seen his friend get this scar on his elbow from his soulmate, and it's still there, a permanent mark on his skin. 

_whoever leaves a permanent mark on my skin... i'm going to hunt them down_, the thought crosses heechul's mind rather venomously.

he's seen the way his friend muttered about the scar on his elbow; up until his friend actually _met_ his soulmate, this apparently sweet girl who apologised for the scar the instant they crossed ways. and now his friend talks about the scar as if it's a token of their love or some bullshit like that.

no thank you. to him, this seems like some sort of weird brainwashing sorcery.

the years continue on - he's going to be graduating from high school soon - and yet, he's not received a single indication of the fact that his soulmate exists somewhere out there in the world.

he hopes it stays like this. he hopes he's been deemed unlovable by whatever god out there who had this twisted soulmate idea. he hopes he never has to deal with the trouble of somehow falling in love with someone who was a stranger to him all the way until he got an injury.

it doesn't stay like that.

when the world around him is coloured in the half-amber half-white of winter encroaching upon the last shreds of autumn, his skin is tinted with a pink line. 

he freaks out. he screams, calls his friend at two in the morning and half-shouts down the phone - his parents are asleep - "_donghae, i have a scar on my skin given by some fucking stranger_", gets angry about it, accidentally slams his hand against the - very cold - window and proceeds to get angrier; it takes a while of frantic flailing out of disbelief before it hits him, hard, and he kind of just freezes right there.

_oh._

_so, it isn't bullshit._

he doesn't know what to feel about it, really. after living years trying to force himself into believing that he doesn't have a soulmate, this random stranger appears out of nowhere and oh-so-graciously marks his skin with a cut.

so, he has a soulmate.

some girl out there in the world got a paper cut on her right index finger, at one forty-seven in the morning.

_what the fuck is she doing at this time?_

then he feels this little twinge at his abdomen area, and pulls up his shirt to peer at it - which only causes him to shriek louder (and potentially awaken his parents). marked upon his perfectly smooth, milky skin, in the reddish hue of blood, is a tiny smiley face.

"is she a fucking _masochist_?" he whispers to himself in absolute incredulity; he always thought this whole soulmates thing was weird, but he never really imagined his soulmate writing messages to him by drawing across her skin. now, that would be cute and all, little love letters written to him that turn up on his skin - it would be cute if, maybe, it wasn't drawn in blood.

of course, he can't feel the pain, which is great, because if he had to feel the pain of some sharp object dragging across his abdomen just to see a damned smiley face, he would probably stab himself just so his soulmate would double over in pain. ha. that would be a nice revenge.

but - really - out of all his friends who discovered their soulmates early on, none of them had soulmates who communicate with them by fucking _cutting their skin_ into messages.

he pauses.

it's pretty smart, in fact, since injuries are the only things that appear on a soulmate's skin - smart, perhaps, if you disinclude the whole pain factor.

which is very much there.

hence, bringing him back to the conviction that his soulmate is an absolute masochist.

there's another tingling feeling on his skin, on the back of his left hand now, and the lines are there - faint, only light cuts, but there nonetheless. 

_hi._

he allows a groan to leave his lips, collapsing back onto his bed and willing himself to go to sleep to get away from this whole soulmate thing for a few hours.

_what the fuck is this bullshit?_


	2. red

park jungsoo stares out of the window. the frost has come early in winter, and are beginning to creep onto the remaining orange-red leaves that the trees bear. just looking at it makes him feel all dreary inside. at the same time, though, winter gives him an excuse to stay indoors all day, so that brings a small smile to his face.

"when are you going back?" the voice speaks to him with a light rapping of the knuckles on his door. he doesn't bother to turn towards the door, doesn't make any move to open it to greet the one behind it.

"not yet."

"okay."

the smile is gone from his face now as he lets a heavy sigh flee from his lips. he looks at the scar on his left hand. it's stopped bleeding by now - it's healing pretty fast, in fact.

_hi._

there had been no reply - not that he'd really expect one, because who else would be insane enough to write messages to their soulmate by inflicting harm upon their own bodies?

he wonders if he even has a soulmate, or if he's just writing these silly little messages for no reason. he's been doing it for a while now, but always in the most hidden places - the parts of the back that people can't usually see, the inside of the thigh, the side of the abdomen. and they've always been small little words or the tiniest cuts; he wonders if his soulmate even noticed they were there. last night, he drew the smiley face a little bigger, and the _hi_ was cut in plain sight.

_i hope my soulmate sees._

he looks at the object in his hands - it glints an evil metal, still tinged with red from last night, and he swallows thickly; in that moment, every silly little fantasy about meeting his soulmate, about having a soulmate, crashes to below zero.

_who am i kidding?_

_if i have a soulmate somewhere out there in the world, i'm sorry to whoever it is._

_i'm so sorry._

"jungsoo!" another voice this time, a little deeper and more demanding. "open up."

"i don't want to." his tone is flat, uninterested, and he continues to toy with the metal in his hands.

there's the sound of keys jingling; one is roughly inserted into the lock, and the door is shoved open in seconds. the man taller than he is walks in, arms crossed. "jungsoo-" he cuts himself off as he sees the object that jungsoo holds. his voice takes on an edge of urgency, anger, anxiety. "jungsoo. drop that now."

"what if i don't want to?" he asks childishly, with the frozenness of a thousand winters in his tone.

he's unnerved, jungsoo can tell, from the way he gulps and his spine stiffens and his voice trembles just a little. "jungsoo. pass it here."

"but it's mine!" he continues to speak with the same mannerisms as a young child refusing to let go of his toy, even though he knows that his gaze is deader than any child's could ever be and the smile that's plastered to his lips doesn't even seem like one. "i don't want to give it to you."

"you have to give it here," the man insists, taking a step closer. "pass it here."

"it's mine. you can't have it," he responds, with a hollow giggle tainting his tone, "go find your own."

the man halts, and his eyes are alight with an expression that reads _what the fuck is happening_. "fine," he spits, and he begins to back away. just like all of them do. "you have some sick offence within your mind. you're messed up as hell."

"come again another time!" his voice is cheerful, coldly so.

"i won't," are the final remarks from the man as he slams the door behind him.

_yeah, don't._

_just go._

_give up on me, just like all of them._

a smile curves the edges of his lips, a real one this time.

_it's okay, jungsoo._

_it'll be okay soon._

and he's bored, so he takes the metal object and begins to press it to his skin.

heechul awakens to see his foot red in colour.

"what the _fuck_?"

"no profanities!" his sister yells back from somewhere outside his door.

"at least you don't have a goddamn masochist as your soulmate!" he screeches back. his sister has this perfect guy as her soulmate, who she's dating and who she's apparently overjoyed with; not some idiot who cuts her skin and writes to him, _hey i'm jungsoo_.

"you have a soulmate?" it doesn't take long for his sister to bound into his room. "you got an injury? wait, masochist?"

he opts not to show her his foot - yet - in case she thinks he's completely insane, and instead shows her his hand. "some crazy woman cut herself to spell out _hi_," he hisses.

"that's pretty cute," she counters, "i mean, if she has some super high pain tolerance, i think it's really sweet that she's writing these messages to you. won't you reply to her?"

"are you insane?" he can only stare at his sister in dumbfoundedness now. "do you know how much it'll hurt?"

she only laughs. "then i guess your future girlfriend is stronger than you." 

he watches as she exits his room, shutting the door behind her.

_well - _

_wait, jungsoo?_

it hits him that jungsoo is not the typical female name.

he pauses.

_jungsoo_ _isn't even a female name._

his soulmate is a guy.

a masochist guy.

kim heechul decides that he's wholeheartedly exhausted by this whole soulmate thing - and honestly, he'd prefer to just live alone forever instead of being with someone as insane as his apparent soulmate.

not to mention that while all of his friends have sweet, innocent, _perfectly normal_ girls as their soulmate, his is a more than just _slightly _insane guy who enjoys making himself bleed in order to spell out words.

_this is not cute at all, _heechul thinks firmly, feeling a slight shudder running down his spine, _this is as weird as heck._


	3. maybe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> again, trigger warning. please don't read if it may affect you.

his fingers itch for metal once again; it overcomes him, like some overwhelmingly forceful wave crashing over his head that he cannot surface from. every time he feels like screaming, his cries for help go silent. he remains struggling in cold quietude within these four walls, his chest rising and falling with the unsteady up-and-down of anxiety, the inner voices screaming over and over till he wants to reach in there and tear everything apart so he doesn't have to hear anymore.

in the end, he half-falls out of his chair, part-staggers and part-walks towards the table, his fingers curling around the sharp metal with some sort of insatiable desire - his body shakes, and he embraces the sharp pain that shoots through him and encases him into a blurry haze of agony, the type that spirals through his veins faster than bolts of lightning and numbs his senses so well that he marks his skin over and over in repetitive red lines.

blood - it's red, violently so, and the crimson liquid gushes out from opening wounds like water rushing from a dam. he can sense the way he begins to lose track of his thoughts, the way he begins to lose the ability to feel, and he welcomes the way the haziness begins to give way to unconsciousness.

the thought that crosses his mind before he lets himself fall is, _i'm sorry to whatever soulmate i have out there, that i couldn't control myself anymore._

kim heechul is coming home from school when he notices extremely blatant red lines that snake across his wrist.

and in that moment, it hits him, and he freezes in his tracks.

his soulmate - _jungsoo _\- isn't some masochist. isn't some weird happy kid who likes seeing blood.

he swallows thickly. 

out of all his friends, none of them got a possibly depressed, self-harming soulmate either.

his soulmate cuts. drags a blade across his own skin.

and he doesn't know why, but in that moment he wishes he could carve onto his own skin a frantic, _where are you?_ just so he can run to his soulmate's side and tell him to stop harming both of their beautiful skins and so much more.

the bus goes by.

he doesn't care.

his throat constricts.

_i want to tell him that he's worth it and i really think that this soulmate thing is a pain in the ass but if he thinks that no one can love him i want him to know that the fucking purpose of me being here is to love him so he should really love himself more because not everyone deserves the love of kim heechul._

"stop it, jungsoo," he whispers to no one in particular, and the way his heart tightens in his chest is an odd feeling. is this what it's like, having a soulmate?

he watches as smiling faces board the bus, watches as the bus doors close, and realises that he'll be home a little late. 

_change of plans._

his heart is thudding as he pulls out his phone, dialing a number that he hasn't dialed in a while.

"hey, i need a favour from you."

_my parents are going to fucking kill me._

jungsoo surrenders the blade with a cold glare - well, not surrender, per say, seeing that it was forcefully snatched from his grasp. the man stares back at him emotionlessly, holding the metal still coated over with his dried blood. "wash up." the words are spoken brusquely before he exits the room, sharp metal in hand.

he sighs. now he's back, trapped inside these same four walls, just a monster in the shell of a human being slowly rotting away into an inviting oblivion. he strips, tossing off his lower garments first before pulling off his top, being a little careful not to get the threads caught in the open wounds; he doesn't want unnecessary pain that'll do nothing but hurt, he wants the pain that hurts so well it numbs everything he's ever known.

he steps into the shower, switching on the water and testing the temperature as if it were a daily routine; he shoves his arm under the water, not flinching when it impacts against his wound. he rubs at the dried blood around the wounds, watching as the water turns a little red in colour. 

and that's when he notices the black marks that crawl along his right wrist, the wrist that isn't marked with ugly red scars. it's handwritten, cursive and messy at the same time, but quite beautiful.

_you're worth it_.

so, out there somewhere in the terrifyingly large world, he has a soulmate.

he wishes he could say sorry to his soulmate, whoever it is.

he also wishes he could ask his soulmate _why_.

because what sane person would realise their soulmate was a self-harming, depressed, hopeless guy on the brink of insanity and still act like everything's okay? because who the hell would see someone fuck up their whole life and still tell them that they are worth the life that exists on this earth? because who is there who would accept a twisted mess of a person as who he is and not flee after seeing the demon they've become?

is this what soulmates are made for?

_if so, i've been a pretty shitty soulmate._

he traces the black marks on his wrist, almost as if with some form of wonderment. of course he can't feel the ink, but it looks oddly beautiful on his skin, and so damn out of place, because nothing on him is ever beautiful.

_damn it._

_now i can't cut that wrist ever again, because you've made it so nice to look at._

_i don't even know you and you don't even know me, but why have you already helped me more than anyone else in this accursed place has?_

and he wonders whether one day, he'll be able to know who the one who got this tattooed onto his or her own skin is; whether the day will come where he'll know what it feels like to be loved; whether one day in this uncertain future, he'll be able to meet his soulmate.

maybe one day these scars will fade from his skin.

maybe one day the red won't keep coming fresh anymore.

maybe one day the only thing that'll stay with him will be the words _you're worth it._

maybe.


	4. again

for some odd reason, he stops seeing the scars appearing on his body, sees the messages written in red fade from his sight. the marks on his wrist get a little thinner, a little less red, fading bit by bit day by day.

he raises his arm, and his gaze lands on the black ink engraved upon his skin.

_you're worth it._

_am i really? _he can't help but wonder - the same thoughts that has been flashing through his mind for the past two weeks.

_maybe i am._

there's a sudden rush of emotion that chokes him; perhaps it's because the thought that someone out there in the world genuinely cares for him, the way that no one ever did.

some stranger whose name he doesn't even know, the unfortunate soul that he's been bound to since birth, and yet the stranger who decided not to turn away from this depressed, useless guy; the one who he doesn't know who gave him a new reason to live.

"hey-"

the word is spoken aggressively, roughly, cutting through the calm silence around him. his brief state of peace is rudely interrupted as the door slams open, impacting with the wall, and he feels his spine go stiffer than wooden bark as he catches a glimpse of the scowling face of the man who strides into his room.

_fuck this._

he hasn't seen any new scars on his body for two weeks now. he traces the tattoo in wonderment - he's gotten used to seeing the unerasable black ink etched into his own skin now. 

_so, it actually helped._

well, if this park jungsoo dude had actually ignored this tattoo he'd gotten, he'd probably get mad; it had hurt like a bitch, not to mention a year's worth of angry yells and beratings from his parents when they discovered it during dinner, despite his efforts to hide his wrist.

soulmates are a funny thing, really.

they compel you, in a way; this whole idea of two souls being inextricably linked together by some inexorable force of the universe itself. they make your heart open without your permission, they make you take this whole other stranger into your world without even knowing who the hell they really are, they make you accept every broken tangled piece of this other person without really knowing why - all because they are your soulmate.

there's this little piece of him that's been resisting the idea of having a soulmate all along.

and yet here he is, doing things he'd never do for this one guy, just so the guy would feel better.

park jungsoo.

he wonders what his soulmate will be in real life.

he doesn't want to meet a masochist. he doesn't want to meet someone so deep, so twisted in the binds of depression that he's half lost between reality and oblivion. he doesn't want to meet a shell of the man named park jungsoo.

he wants to meet his soulmate, park jungsoo.

the man he was bound to since birth.

the man made for him and the man that he was made for.

and so - the realisation strikes him at one in the morning when he's absentmindedly tracing over his tattoo - he's fighting to keep this guy alive, to be this man's savior.

_i want to see your face._

_i want to meet you._

a million possibilities take flight within his mind; of how his soulmate will act, of how his soulmate's voice will sound, of how his soulmate will look. 

of how they will meet one day without knowing of one another and yet knowing that they were made for each other. of how they will meet as two bound souls.

_when i meet you, i want to see you smiling and your skin untouched and i want to see you happy and healthy._

he smiles a little ruefully, refusing to let his mind stray towards corners he'd prefer untouched.

_i promise i'll do the same for you too._

his vision is blurry. 

"fuck off," he chokes out, his larynx constricted, his breathing rising and falling in uneven rhythms. he claws blindly at the air that feels heavier than usual, strikes at the demons that hang thick around him, grasps desperately for any cold metal that he can find.

and as he sits there in the dead of the night, back pressed against the wall, his entire body trembling, he bows his head and cries.

the tears slide down slowly, thick droplets one at a time, before getting faster and heavier all at once; he drops the metal to the ground, and it hits with a horrible clattering noise, and he pulls his knees in and buries his head between his knees and cries till his body shakes with the wretched intensity of some poisoned animal retching every shred of food consumed over a week onto the ground. 

"help me," his voice is weak, broken, and cracked all over, and he can hear his own voice echoing back to him off the four walls and surrounding his head like some sort of sinister chant.

he traces the skin on his wrist, tries to squint past his hazy tears to read the writings in black ink.

they only make his heart hurt more.

_i'm sorry_. he doesn't have the energy to voice it aloud; perhaps he doesn't have it in him to hear his own voice fade away without a reply again. 

maybe he's been too caught up in the fantasies of having a soulmate who cares for him. maybe he's been living in the shards of his own imaginations, and maybe he's failed to realise the hell that he's still wrapped up within. maybe he deceived his own foolish mind into thinking that everything will be okay now that there's someone out there in this great big world who cares about his existence. 

it isn't okay.

nothing's okay.

his body stops shaking gradually, and he leans back against the wall, his tears drying against his cold cheeks. at this point, he doesn't have it in him to sob, to cry, to move. he sits in the welcoming dark of the night, tears dried, throat raw, eyes blood red. 

what a fool he has been.

soulmates are part of fate.

but how can he possibly be okay, if his fate has been screwed up since the very start?

he allows his eyes to close, letting his fingers flit across the skin where he knows the black markings lie.

_i'm not going to be okay._


	5. gone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warning!

everything hurts.

the world has faded away into a blur of noise and colour and things that he's too weak to bother paying attention to. the tears well up in every corner of his eyes and yet refuse to fall, clouding his vision almost mockingly like a constant reminder of his fragility. his throat is rough, dry, and he swallows thickly, trying to drown away these accursed emotions that rise up higher and higher, like a wave threatening to crash over his head and suffocate him in its grasp. 

everything is hollow.

everything means nothing.

his hand reaches out; his fingers claw around desperately, and settle only once they come into contact with skin. he feels thick liquid leak onto his palm, and his body trembles just a bit harder at the familiar sensation of fresh blood.

his vision blurs a little more, and from some fogged, hazy part of his mind, he's aware that it's not just his tears.

before he succumbs, he clutches at his skin just a little tighter, and realises that he's subconsciously gripping the black ink etched onto his wrist.

a small smile crosses his face. he barely has the energy to curve his lips upwards.

_soon, i will be okay._

his fingers trace the mark.

lovingly.

longingly.

sorrowfully.

he stares at the fresh red marks on his wrist, and he feels a plethora of emotions he doesn't know how to describe bubbling inside of him all at once. he doesn't know when it happened - some odd time before dawn came. he awoke at seven in the morning to see red.

across both wrists. across the black ink that he had painstakingly injected into his skin.

the evening is approaching. so far, no new marks have appeared.

_you're worth it._

_fucking hell..._

he feels useless.

the frustration wells up thick as he stares at his wrists, knowing that out there somewhere there's a man hurting so deeply - and yet knowing that he can't do anything to help it.

the regret hangs off him like a crushing weight, pressing against his lungs and rendering him incapable of inhaling fresh air fully. 

_i'm sorry that this is all i can do._

_i'm sorry that i'm continuing to live my life while you're suffering like this._

at eight in the evening, after dinner, kim heechul absentmindedly traces his wrist with a finger.

it's almost as if the moment were frozen in time; the world stills for a moment, and all he can hear is his heart pulsing in his ears, louder and faster with every solitary beat, and then he can feel panic and anxiety and horror and sorrow and hope crashing upon him all at once, sharper than the tip of blades and stronger than the hardest ore and more overwhelming than being pushed a thousand metres below the surface of the sea.

he doesn't notice that his entire body is trembling until he raises his hands and sees the way they're shaking. he doesn't realise how hard he's crying until the tears begin to slide down his cheeks cold and harsh. he isn't aware of how much it hurts until his heartstrings rip in his chest and it feels like his heart is suspended in some form of static illusion; stone cold, stiller than frozen water in his chest, and yet pumping out the blood that roars in his ears.

his wrists are beautiful.

the words glare back up at him.

_you're worth it._

they're pure, freed of the ugly red scars that criss-crossed it.

he can't move.

he doesn't know how to react.

he can't possibly react.

he runs his hands over his wrists, almost desperately, and he is sickeningly aware that this isn't some form of ghastly hallucination.

he allows himself to crumble.

soulmates are bullshit.

because how cruel must fate be, to designate someone as the person that you are meant to fall in love with - before ripping them away from you, so abruptly and so silently? how cruel must fate be, to allow him, to cause him to fall in love with some stranger he doesn't even know, and then take that stranger away from him before they even got the chance to see each others' faces?

he never thought it would hurt this much.

he never thought it _could_ hurt this much.

bullshit, his mind cries over and over, as if trying to tug him away from the harsh reality. bullshit. soulmates are bullshit.

but he has a soulmate.

a real person.

he had a soulmate.

all the missed opportunities, things that will forever haunt him.

he can imagine all the things they told him he'd be able to do with his soulmate.

go for coffee dates on weekends. stroll along the streets without anything to actually do. small talk here and there, basking in the comfortability of one another.

all he wanted to do was see his soulmate's face, really.

all he wanted to do was meet park jungsoo.

talk to him properly.

know who his soulmate was.

but now, he's gone.


End file.
